


when we grow up

by aloneintherain



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Childhood Friends, Fluff, Gen, Humor, Peter is a shit, embarrassing parents, i gave flash a loving mother fight me he deserves it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-28
Updated: 2016-10-28
Packaged: 2018-08-27 12:41:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8402125
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aloneintherain/pseuds/aloneintherain
Summary: Flash's mom isn’t listening anymore. Her gaze is drawn to the steps of Midtown High. A slow, sly smile spreads over her face.Oh, no.Rosie cups her hands around her mouth, and does the unthinkable. “Peter! Down here, sweetheart!”





	

**Author's Note:**

> This has been sitting complete in my drafts folder for like... a year. My other WIPs where kicking my ass, so I might as well upload this.
> 
> Inspired by the Spectacular Spider-Man episode _First Steps_. I also touch on some headcanons I've mentioned on my tumblr, especially here: http://captainkirkk.tumblr.com/post/143986423022/ahhhhh-thanks-so-much-for-the-peter-headcannons
> 
> Flash's mum seems _nice_ in Spectacular Spider-Man, so lets all pretend she actually divorced her abusive husband when Flash and his little sister, Jessie, were still little. He deserves a happy family. And Randy and Kenny are Flash's friends in SSM, so I slotted them in here.

Throngs of students push their way out of Midtown High. The crowds are thrumming with the energy of a Friday afternoon. Flash—bag looped over one arm, Kenny pressed under the other, Randy on his other side—freezes on the top of the stairs.

Rosie Thompson waits beneath the afternoon sun, by the school’s dying patch of grass. She waves when she sees him.

“Is that your mom?” Kenny murmurs as they make their way down the stairs. Flash rubs at the back of his head, and nods.

“Dude,” Randy says, laughing.

“Shut up,” Flash hisses. A red flush works its way up his neck. He avoids looking at his mother.

“Hello, boys!” Rosie says. She smiles, welcomingly and genuine. Flash’s friends never stood a chance. “You all look very handsome, today.”

“Oh,” says Randy. “Hello, m’am.”

They’re juniors, almost adults, but under the warm gaze of Flash’s mom, the boys’ hard edges soften. They feel like kids again, eager to please their teacher with practised manners and homemade crayon drawings.

“Mom,” Flash says with a stilted chuckle. “What’re you doing here?”

“Your car is in for repairs, so I figured you kids would like a lift to the movies, since you’re celebrating your last football win. Can’t miss that, right?”

“Right,” Flash says. The words feel awkward in his mouth. These were two worlds that should not be crossed. “But I could’ve just caught the bus again or caught a lift with someone.”

“Randy and Kenny both don’t own cars,” she reminds him.

“It’s fine, Mrs Thompson,” Randy says. “You didn’t need to come all the way down and get us.”

Flash's mom isn’t listening anymore. Her gaze is drawn to the steps of Midtown High. A slow, sly smile spreads over her face.

Oh, no.

Rosie cups her hands around her mouth, and does the unthinkable. “Peter! Down here, sweetheart!”

Peter Parker descends the stairs, looking as windswept and nerdy as usual in a Mathletes t-shirt, beat up chucks, and a straining backpack full of textbooks. At the sound of his name, his head shoots up and his gaze lands on Rosie Thompson, Flash’s red face, and a bemused Kenny and Randy.

“Mrs Thompson,” Peter says easily. He beams down at them. “It’s so good to see you.”

“Mom,” Flash hisses urgently. His friends’ eyes grew wide. They turn to Flash for some kind of explanation, but Flash refuses to look at him. “Mom, please.”

Rosie ignores her son. “Oh, none of that, young man. Like I always tell you, it’s Rosie.” Peter reaches the end of the stairs. Rosie takes his hands, she leans up, and kisses his cheek. She hadn’t kissed _Flash’s_ cheeks in greeting—a fact he’s strangely annoyed about. “Wow, look how big you’ve gotten, Peter! I always said you’d grow taller, no matter how small you were when you were younger.”

“I’m not _that_ tall, Rosie,” Peter says. Randy and Kenny exchange glances. Parker just reaches their shoulders.

“You have time. You’ll get there in the end, and that’s what matters.”

Peter laughs, the sound easy, unlike the nervous or forced laughter the other teenagers are accustomed to. “If you say so. How’s Jessie?”

Randy’s eyes stare holes in the back of Flash’s neck, silently demanding answers. Flash feels like he might die.

“Oh, good, good. Wonderful grades and lovely friends. She has this crush on our next-door neighbour now, definitely gotten over that embarrassing crush she had on you.”

Peter rubs at the back of his neck awkwardly. He always was embarrassed about that crush Flash’s little sister had had on him.“Well, that’s very good to hear.”

“How’s your Aunt?”

“Oh, she’s—”

“I’m sure Peter is very busy!” Flash says very loudly. The afternoon crowd has mostly moved on, but there’s still groups of kids hanging around the front of the high school, chatting, or waiting to be picked up. Flash can’t be seen associating with Puny Parker. “Like _we’re_ very busy; we don’t want to miss our movie.”

“Movie?” Peter asks. 

 Rosie turns to him. “Oh, you’re not coming?”

“No, well…” He glances at Flash, eyes gleaming. “I didn’t receive an invite.”

Rosie turns accusing eyes on Flash. “Flash! Peter’s not coming tonight? He’s your best friend!”

“Best friend?” Randy chokes.

“Oh, yes,” Rosie says. “I have photos of these two running around in the sprinkles, naked. I should find them…”

“Mom!” Flash squawks, shoulders hunched around his ears.

Flash is ready for death. Maybe the universe will do him a solid and another alien invasion would rain down from the sky. That’s exactly what this conversation needs; a little hellfire, a lot of loud and distracting explosions. Another Battle of New York, maybe.

“Naked,” Peter echoes. He strokes his chin and pretends to think about it. In that moment, he looks the very picture of a super-villain. Maybe Flash should stop picking on boy-geniuses, lest he accidentally drives one of them to super-villainy. “Did I ever tell you how Flash got his nickname?”

“Parker,” Flash manages through gritted teeth. “I will destroy you.”

Rosie slaps lightly at his arm. “Flash, that’s no way to talk to people you used to play dress ups with.”

“Dress ups?” Randy asks, eyes huge. Kenny’s mouth is agape. He looks vaguely like a concussed fish.

“Flash made a lovely superhero,” Rosie says. “He wore a towel for a cape and underpants over his jeans.”

“Captain Marvellous Underpants,” Peter says wistfully. “And I was… I can’t remember.”

Flash glares at the asphalt beneath his sneaks. “Doctor McEvil.”

“Doctor McEvil,” Kenny whispers, staring at Peter in a new light. Flash wonders if Kenny is also seeing the possibility for super-villainy in Peter’s dark eyes.

Peter nods decisively. “His arch nemesis. I wore my dad’s old lab coat and swimming googles. My minions were invisible pet dragons.”

Flash covers his face with his hands. He’d forgotten about those damned invisible dragons. He’d forgotten about how excited he’d been when Peter had come up with the idea. It’d seemed so menacing when they were 8.

“You made a great super-villain, dear,” Rosie says, and Flash thinks, _oh god, she sees it too. Is she_ encouraging _the inevitable super-villainy?_

“Flash made a great pirate, too,” Peter adds thoughtfully.

“A good police officer.”

“The best alien invader.”

“An amazing prince charming.”

Peter’s grin sharps, turning wicked sharp. Randy and Kenny exchange glances; they’d never thought their residential geek capable of such an expression.

“And,” Peter says, “he made the prettiest fairy princess.”

“ _Noooooo_.” Flash covers his burning face. He wants to lay on the ground and never get back up. He didn’t know it was possible to feel this emasculated. He’s going to destroy Peter on Monday.

“One time—” Rosie begins, and Flash exhales roughly, shaking his head as though to dispel a haze of humiliation.

He grabs Randy and Kenny around the arms and tugs them away. “Goodbye, Mom!”

“Oh, but I was going to drive—”

“We’ve decided to walk!”

“Okay!” Rosie says. “Goodbye, honey!”

“Goodbye, Eugene!” Peter calls after them.

Flash ignores the questions Randy and Kenny shoot his way and Peter and Rosie’s distant laughter, and marches toward the cinema, ears burning.

 

* * *

 

“Parker!”

Peter leans back in his chair, hands laced behind his head. He looks up at Flash with one cocked eyebrow. Flash bites back the urge to smack him. “Thompson?”

Flash bites at the inside of his cheek. _Be nice,_ he reminds himself.

“Peter,” Flash corrects, and takes a deep breath. “Do you… do you want to come over for dinner tonight?”

Peter _looks_ at him. “Dinner? With me? At your house?”

“Yeah,” Flash says, stuffing his hands in his pockets and looking away from Peter’s open mouthed stare. “We used to do it all the time.”

Peter squints up at him. “Are you dying?”

“What?”

“Are you dying, and do you need to kill and harvest me for my vital organs?”

“What? No!”

Peter shakes his head. “Then I can see no other reason why you’d invite me to your house. Have you hit your head? Do you need help getting to the ER?”

Had Peter always been this sarcastic when they were kids? Flash remembers a Peter who was eager to do his Aunt’s bidding, always ready to please the adults around them. He had been a nervous child, but one who read widely and enthusiastically, who dug into muddy gardens to look for bugs and spiders, excited to explore the world. A kid who, when faced with assholes in the playground, would tremble, but snark something witty and intelligent and antagonising, forcing Flash to step in and protect him before he got himself punched.

(Back when Peter _had_ Flash to step in and protect him.)

So, yes, Flash figures. Peter Parker: lifelong sarcastic shit.

“Look,” Flash says, glancing back at the door, aware of how little time he has before their next class, “my mom asked me to invite you.”

Peter’s smile dims, just a little. “Of course, mama’s boy.”

“And I…” Flash studies the window, head turned away, not meeting Peters’s eyes. He swallows, somehow manages to overcome his pride, and says, “I want you there, too.”

“… Huh?”

“We were friends when we were little. Maybe, we could… um. Do that thing. Again.”

“The thing?”

“The… the friend. Thing.”

“The friend thing,” Peter echoes. There’s amusement in Peter’s voice, but nothing mocking. It’s a kindness Flash doesn’t overlook.

Flash clears his throat. “The friend thing. Yes.”

Flash can’t see what Peter is doing with his face. The chair scraps back as the shorter boy stands up. The empty classroom is quiet. Stippled sunlight filters in through the windows.

Peter says, “What time should I be at yours?”

Flash tells the window, “Seven. Aunt May is welcome, too.”

 

* * *

 

 That night, Jessie makes moon eyes at Peter from across the table, and Peter tries not to fidget under the girl’s obvious infatuation. May, hair beautifully silvered and eyes as bright and kind as ever, talks about how remarkably tall and handsome Flash has gotten and how glad she is to see him again.

After pork and peas and roasted potatoes, after May and Rosie shepherd the boys into the kitchen with armfuls of dishes, Peter and Flash have a moment of privacy. Flash’s arms are plunged elbow deep in soapy water, Peter by his side, armed with a dish cloth. Their elbows bang together as they work, sneakers inches apart on the tiled floor.

From the other room float in sounds of warm laughter, the soft rumble of the TV, and the clinking of wine glasses.

Peter dries a Spider-Man mug with a curled smile. The red ceramic glints dully under the kitchen lights. “Hey, Flash?”

Flash clears his throat. “Yeah?”

“I’d…” Peter coughs. “I’d like to do the friend thing.”

“Friend thing,” Flash echoes. “God, that sounds so dumb.”

“Yeah, it does.” Flash has missed seeing that sharp, egging grin on Peter’s face. “It suits you.”

Flash squawks and throws a sponge at him. Peter retaliates with a wet cloth to the face. They’re laughing and covered in suds when Rosie and May find them, in the middle of a water fight neither of them are winning. Peter’s glasses are splattered with soap. Flash’s jacket is soaked. Water puddles the kitchen floor.

They’re in trouble. They’re soaked and flushed and choking on their laughter. They’re seventeen and feel seven.

Flash thinks it’s almost worth the humiliation.


End file.
